


Foxhole Valley

by itsbee



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Stardew Valley AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsbee/pseuds/itsbee
Summary: Dear Neil,If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belonged.(or: Neil welcomes a needed change, and is surprised by what he finds.)
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. Welcome to Foxhole Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a galaxy brain tumblr post a while ago about a foxhole court/stardew valley crossover and have not forgotten about it to this day
> 
> [(klosehemmick.tumblr.com)](http://klosehemmick.tumblr.com)  
> 

_Dear Neil,_

_If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change._

_The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belonged._

_I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: Hatford Farm. It’s located in Foxhole Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life._

_This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honor the family name, my boy. Good luck._

_Love, Uncle Stuart_

Neil held the letter in his hands, dressed in the familiar scrawl of his uncle’s handwriting. He read it over dozens of times, though he guaranteed this one to be the last.

Uncle Stuart was dead, he guessed. It was the only reason he could have fathomed he would abandon Hatford Farm to anyone, Neil of all. He adored the place. And yet there Neil was, adopting into his care a farm with which he had no experience, and frankly, no real desire. Neil Josten was no farmer. It sounded ridiculous to even say. Neil Josten was no anything. If he’d received it a year ago, he would have tossed the letter in a fireplace and watched the remnants of his old life burn to ashes.

But he was…bored, he guessed. Stuck? Certainly not lonely. He did not get lonely. He lived dozens of places and changed his name more times than he cared to recall in his eighteen years; he hadn’t had a friend in—well. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a friend at all. And he was fine that way. He preferred it. And so he had no clue at all what he was doing. Why he opened the letter to begin with, let alone decide to travel cross-country to Foxhole Valley. Maybe it was because it was a place to stay that wasn’t an abandoned house, emptied of everything but ghosts and numbing cold. Maybe it was something to do that wasn’t traveling aimlessly to collect past debts just to survive. Maybe he wanted to get to stay in one place for once, a place that belonged to him.

The otherwise empty bus rumbled underneath his feet, and he could hear the lone duffel bag rattling overhead. It was growing dark outside, and from his poor sense of time, they must have been at it for a few hours at least. He rested his head against the bus window, bouncing rhythmically, uncomfortably with every pothole and crevice.

He let his eyes close, at last accepting the notable vacancy of the vehicle aside from the driver, and they did not open again until the driver’s voice echoed back to him: “Arriving at Palmetto Town, Foxhole Valley.”

Neil rocked to his feet, still groggy from sleep but ever-decent at grounding himself into alertness, and slipped his duffel from the compartment before stumbling off the bus. It roared to life again behind him, and Neil was left alone in consuming darkness. It was a small dirt clearing, speckled by trees and flowers he did not recognize. He followed a cobblestone road down to a small abandoned cabin, which by all deduction must have been Hatford Farm.

He was surprised by the state of it. The vast area was littered with stones and weeds, shaded further in the moonlight by towering oak trees. In front of him was a wooden cabin, smaller than the foreclosed two-bedroom he’d been staying in for the past two months, but he was not one to complain about free accommodations, especially when there was no need to sneak in and out for fear of snitching neighbors.

There were no crops on the land, to his surprise. No coops or barns, nothing really to indicate it had at any point been a functional farm despite the vast acreage. Across the pathway where he’d come, streetlamps twinkled in the moonlight. For a moment he had a mind to explore the town, account for the layout and any hidden areas he could use to his advantage. Instead, he turned and climbed the steps into the cabin. He would have preferred it, he guessed, if his introduction to the neighbors wasn’t him wandering, aimless and tired, around town at midnight. If he had any desire to know them, that would certainly not be it.

Inside the cabin was as simple as Neil had deduced by the state of the land. It was small—a single bed and TV in respective corners and a dining table and chest cozied up by an idle fireplace. It smelled old if he had to describe it—like accumulated mildew and dust. It had the same aura of the countless vacated houses he’d lived in over the years. If Uncle Stuart loved this place as much as he claimed, Neil couldn’t fathom why it all seemed so abandoned.

He slung his duffel bag onto the white sheets and set to work coaxing a blaze into the fireplace. With expert fingers and the help of flint, the old logs sparked to life. Warmth radiated around the single-room home, and Neil found his way a short few steps back to the bed. He unzipped the duffel briefly, only to account that the binder full of money remained where he’d left it, and he slid the bag under the bed.

It was homely, to say the least. And despite the mess, secluded areas were far preferable to bustling neighborhoods. He wondered what he would do tomorrow. If he would forage for food, stay here until he died from old age. It sounded like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. He knew Foxhole Valley and the neighboring village, Palmetto Town, were scarcely populated, and he wondered if the residents would even know he’d moved in. If he could live under the radar here and live a life of solitude.

He sighed. Content, maybe. Relieved. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids until he was under the thin sheets, warmed by the crackling fireplace, and he let slumber coax him into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, he was met with soft sunlight dripping through the singular window and the smell of ashes. A thin plume of smoke wafted up from the fireplace through the chimney. Neil lay in bed for a moment but rose before he could reflect on what had become of his life in the past day.

He trudged across the room and unclasped the chest sat next to the fireplace, wondered if Uncle Stuart had truly left him with nothing but the rundown ghost of a farm, like some kind of cosmic joke from the grave. He was relieved to find it was not completely useless. There were a few tools scattered around the chest, among them an ax and a scythe. So he was not completely unaided, and not completely undefended either. He collected the tools in his arms and made his way into the world.

It couldn’t have been more than seven in the morning. The sun cast shadows through the small collection of scattered trees, and despite the mess, even Neil had to admit it was sort of beautiful here. He was more of a suburb kind of person: enough people that he could easily blend in, but not so many that he couldn’t account for imminent threats. Nature and seclusion were never quite his forte, though looking at it all now he wasn’t entirely sure why.

He set the heap of tools next to the door on the front patio, and for a brief moment of dread wondered where he would start. If he would start. He descended the few steps down onto the grass and scanned the immediate area.

He nearly jumped when he noticed a figure meandering down the cobblestone path leading to town. He had half a mind to scurry back inside, hope he had not been seen, but before he could, the figure raised a hand in greeting.

The man was a bit intimidating if Neil was to admit it. Not that he didn’t suspect he could easily hold his own, but the man was much larger than Neil. He had tattoos spidering up his arms, likely hiding underneath his white tank top. He stopped a few feet short of Neil and put his hands on his hips. He didn’t quite smile, but he also didn’t look specifically malevolent.

“Stuart’s nephew, I assume,” the man said. “He told us he left the deed. Sorry for your loss, by the by.”

Neil did not move or speak, but he accounted for all the exits in the vicinity. There was the path to town, of course, though he hadn’t bothered to explore last night and did not know its layout or even how many people would be around. There were countless paths he could take through the mess of the farm, which he also had not explored, and therefore didn’t know what lead to where. He supposed he could easily lose someone among the trees or boulders, though. He squared his posture nonetheless.

“He was a great guy, Stuart. Real shame. Everyone was pretty fond of the guy.” The man stepped closer to Neil, and Neil mirrored his movement in the opposite direction. “Hey, I don’t bite, kid. I’m Wymack. David Wymack. Or… _Mayor_ Wymack, I guess. Most people forego the title.”

He stuck out a hand, which Neil studiously ignored. He kept his eyes trained on the man. After an uncomfortable moment, Wymack withdrew it. “I get it. You’re new, this is a weird situation. You ever worked a farm before?”

Neil shook his head.

“Alright, then. I’m sure you’ll get your bearings. Take a trip to Foxden Forest to see Betsy, just south of here. Can’t miss it. She’ll tell you everything you need to know about getting started.” He paused and crossed his arms. “This is a close community, kid. I’m just warning you. Around here, everyone’s family more or less, and sometimes they’re a little wary of strangers who might upset the balance. If I was you, I’d introduce myself around. And try not to cause trouble.”

When Neil didn’t respond, Wymack gave him a solemn nod and turned back toward town. As he reached the cobblestone path again, Neil called out. “I’m Neil. Josten.”

Wymack turned back towards him, continuing backward down the path. “Nice to finally meet you, Neil. Good luck. You can find me in town if you need anything.”

And Neil was alone. He stood motionless for more time than he cared to count and finally slumped down on the steps, looking out at the land before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't know what stardew valley is, or know what it is and don't have it, please buy it and play it!! it's made and run by a small independent team (Eric Barone/ConcernedApe) and it's an incredible game, available on like every console (iOS and android, xbox, playstation, switch, pc, etc). it's only $15 and has a 10/10 rating on steam so!! not only will it help you understand this story more but it's such a great game that supports an independent creator who actually cares about his content and players (looking at u EA). 
> 
> here's the link to get it on steam :) especially nice to have during quarantine
> 
> [stardew valley](https://store.steampowered.com/app/413150/Stardew_Valley/)  
> 


	2. Salmonberry and Season's Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil gets caught red-handed.

Neil was decidedly fond of salmonberry. This was a fact which he had only recently discovered about himself. It was a good thing, too, because he was not particularly spoiled for options when it came to food.

He had, as Wymack suggested, traveled south of the farm into Foxden Forest after a moment of light panic on the porch steps. Betsy’s Farm was unmistakable, if not for its convenient location right outside of Hatford Farm limits, then by the rustic sign out front reading _Betsy’s Farm._ Although, despite what Wymack has suggested, Neil defiantly passed it by. He continued straight on into the forest, overstepping logs and rocks and weaving through trees until hunger was more than a dull pain in his empty stomach.

He had made quick work of pulling a spring onion from the dirt, ate it with silent disdain before stumbling across a bush sprouting fruit like a saving grace. He discarded the onion on the forest floor and all but inhaled the red berries, staining his fingertips burgundy. They tasted earthy, which was fitting.

The ground crunched behind him, and Neil rose from his knees and spun around as quickly as he heard it.

There was another man there, with darker skin and curled brown hair. He held his hands up and smiled sheepishly like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. “Oh, good morning. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He looked like someone who was nervous but trying his best to hide it. “Sorry. Just noticed you over here and wanted to say hi. Are you the new owner of Hatford Farm?”

Neil wiped red fingers on oversized blue jeans and swallowed down a mouthful of berries. “Yes.”

The man let down his guard, lowering his hands slowly to his sides. He was tall-ish, especially in comparison to Neil’s towering five and a quarter feet, but less daunting than Wymack had been. He also had a kinder look about him, an overly enthusiastic grin. He clapped his hands together. “I thought so. I mean, we don’t really meet new people around here very often, so I figured…” His sentence petered off as he gestured vaguely. “I’m Nicky. I work the general store with my husband. Useful to you probably, because we sell seeds and stuff, and you’re apparently, well, a farmer.”

“Good to know.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Silence. “Hey, not to pry or anything, but are you… hungry?” He wiped a hand against his own mouth, prompting Neil to do the same, and the back of his hand returned smeared in red. “There’s a saloon in town. Doesn’t usually open until noon, but I’m sure the owner’ll let us in early for Palmetto Town’s newest resident.”

Neil considered it, though he let the quiet drag on for an unsettling amount of time. “Sure.”

“Man of few words, I see.” Nicky smiled. “You can follow me.”

Nicky started east, passing by Betsy’s Farm and toward another cobblestone pathway into town, and Neil lagged behind him.

“It’s on me, by the way,” Nicky called back, not bothering to turn around. He walked with assurance for someone who seemed to be compensating so heavily for something. “A welcome gift. I love it here, obviously, but it gets a little boring when you don’t get to meet anyone new.”

Neil hummed. “Wymack said the people here are unfriendly to new people.”

Nicky laughed like an apology. “Oh, some of them, for sure. Mostly Andrew, if I’m honest. He’s my cousin. Short, blonde, hard to miss. Not to say that everyone else isn’t wary, but they’ll trust you when they get to know you. Don’t let it scare you off. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

They passed a few houses on their way to the saloon, at which Nicky recited the townsfolk whom resided there, though Neil let it go in one ear and out the other. He wondered fleetingly who this Andrew character was. He wasn’t sure how keen he was on meeting him.

Conflict was precisely what he aimed to avoid. He wasn’t attached to this place in any significant way, but he dreaded the thought of this home that was _his_ being yanked from his grasp as soon as it was handed over. He already accepted the fact that his entire life would be moving around until his past eventually caught up with him, and maybe this decision was a fatal error that would lead him to believe he could have more than that. If things went south, was he allowed to mourn any kind of life he never dreamed he would live? The fantasy was pleasant at the very least, for the time being.

Nicky’s firm rap on a door pulled Neil out of his own head. They stood there for a few moments before the door cracked open, and a pair of blue eyes surveyed the two for a moment before opening fully.

“Nicky,” the man said, one hand grasping the doorframe and one on the door. “I’m not open yet.”

“Roland, this is Neil. Neil, Roland.”

“Stuart’s nephew?” The man seemed to perk up, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Shit. What are you doing here? It’s, like, nine in the morning.”

“He’s hungry. Just moved in yesterday,” Nicky said. “Open early for us?”

Roland sighed. “Hell, fine.” He stepped out of the way, and the pair followed behind him.

It was as Neil expected a saloon to be, bar and tables scattered around. There was a pool table and arcade games in a nook to the right, and a jukebox playing a jaunty tune, but the two leaned against one side of the bar while Roland maneuvered behind it. He slid a menu in front of Neil.

“Welcome to Eden’s Twilight Saloon. Here’s the menu. Changes every week, so don’t get too comfortable with it. Can I get you a drink? I recommend the strawberry wine.”

“At nine in the morning?” Neil raised an eyebrow.

Roland paused. He almost looked incredulous.

Neil sighed. “I’m alright.” He studied the menu, which was notably sparse, featuring a limited food selection. On the back, though, was quite the extensive range of wine, mead, and beer. “I’ll take the trout soup.” He slid the menu back across the bar.

“Nicky?”

“Plum pudding for me.”

Roland disappeared behind a door, and Nicky blew him an exaggerated kiss on his way out. He rounded on Neil, leaning an elbow against the bar.

“So, that’s Roland.”

“That’s Roland,” Neil echoed, unenthusiastic.

“Got any plans for the day? Maybe getting started on that mess of a farm? No offense intended.”

Neil looked at his own hands, still tinged in pink. “Is it worth it?”

“Well.” Nicky sighed. “Sure will be a lot of work. But you can also turn a mean profit off land like that. It’s, like, pretty much good for any kind of crop. I mean, I don’t know a lot about farming, but Stuart grew pretty much anything you could imagine.”

“If his farm was so successful, how did it get like that?”

Nicky shrugged and stared at something nondescript behind the bar. “Not sure what happened, honestly. It was a few years ago. He pretty much just up and left, and I guess wear and tear had to catch up with it eventually. He was getting old, so that could have had something to do with it. Couldn’t do the work anymore, went out looking for other ventures.” He looked back at Neil. “I was surprised he stayed for so long. From what he told us, he was a busy guy before he took to country life. Like, never stayed in one place, always had something going on kind of busy. You remind me of him in some ways. You’re a lot jumpier, but. Similar.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The back door crept open again, and Roland emerged with two plates balanced on his arm. He slid them to their respective recipients. The trout soup appeared pleasant enough, and Neil shoveled a tentative spoonful into his mouth.

It was significantly more than decent, or maybe that was Neil’s near empty stomach talking.

“Well?”

“It’s good,” Neil said, forcing himself to eat slowly, careful in what he gave away to these strangers.

Roland smirked again. “Sure I can’t get you that drink?”

Before Neil could answer—which he wasn’t sure he was going to do at all—the saloon door opened. Neil whipped his head back to see another man standing in the doorway. Short, blonde, Andrew.

He was frowning, dressed in a red tee-shirt and jeans. He didn’t look at Neil but settled his eyes firmly on Nicky. Neil turned back toward his soup, though he left Andrew visible in his peripheral vision.

“Erik needs you at the store,” Andrew said, a slightly irritated inflection to his voice. 

Nicky huffed. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine, fine.” Nicky rose from his seat and took his pudding in hand. He set a few bills on the counter in place of his food. “Duty calls. Come see me at the store later if you want, Neil.”

“Nicky, my plate,” Roland whined as Nicky made for the door.

“I’ll bring it back later!” Nicky called playfully as he brushed past Andrew and onto the street.

Roland sighed when the door closed again. “That fucking guy.” His voice didn’t hold any trace of contempt.

Andrew made his way slowly towards the bar, glancing only briefly at Neil before he sat a few stools down.

“Make yourself at home,” Roland said mockingly. He rested his chin in his palm against the bar in an exaggerated pout. “Can none of you read or something? My hours are very clearly posted on the door.”

“Lock it then,” Andrew said.

Roland threw his hands up in defeat. Neil returned to his soup, sizing Andrew up from the corner of his eye.

There was no sound but the song jingling from the jukebox. It was not one Neil recognized, and it could almost have been funny partnering such a lighthearted tune with Andrew’s sour face.

“See something interesting?”

Neil snapped his head to fully look at him. “No.”

“Clearly,” Andrew said. He shook his head and slipped out of the stool. He turned on his heels, and was out the door before Neil could get another word in.

“He’s a lively one,” Roland commented after a few moments. “Don’t pay him too much mind. They’re good people.”

“They?”

“Yeah, that whole family. Nicky’s his cousin, you know. Wouldn’t think so by looking at them.”

Neil drained the rest of his soup in a few gulps and pushed the empty bowl back toward Roland. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Roland took it into his arms. “And also, don’t come into my store before opening again. I’m not even on the clock, technically. Got it?”

Neil said nothing, but followed Andrew’s lead and exited into the warm spring air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for any spelling or grammar errors. it's 2 am and I'm honestly just really excited to get more of this story out
> 
> follow my tumblr if you want  
> [(klosehemmick.tumblr.com)](http://klosehemmick.tumblr.com)  
> 


	3. Night and Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil meets someone new, and then meets him again, but it's different.

Neil’s feet swung off the side of the bridge, nearly close enough to brush his toes against the crystalline water. Sunfish and smallmouth bass darted underneath the surface, playing the world’s longest and most convoluted game of tag. The sun was well past its peak in the sky, a few hours after noon.

He had yet to be bothered since his run-in with Andrew at the saloon, and it was peaceful. A little ways further down the path opposite where he’d come seemed to be some kind of library and a blacksmith. He didn’t even realize those still existed, but it was fitting. Aesthetics never mattered to him, for good reason, but he wasn’t above noting the charming quaintness of the town. He wondered how different he’d have turned out as a person if he grew up in this environment. A small community, with friends and family. Maybe he would have ended up like Nicky, outgoing and relentlessly affable. Or maybe he would have ended up like Andrew, not unlike himself now, sour-faced and jaded. Maybe you just were who you were and environment was background noise. Who really knew, anyway?

Roland was right that he’d never have known Nicky and Andrew were related by looking at them, but not because of their respective appearances. Neil knew siblings that looked entirely unalike, but their mannerisms and personalities made it easy to pick them out in a lineup. He was perceptive enough in that regard. If the two of them had grown up together here, he wondered what must have happened to turn them night and day.

He shook the thought from his head. If he had it his way, he would live on his property and never interact with any of these people again. He would build a barrier out of wood from the trees and effectively isolate himself. It would be ideal, but he also had to eat.

Neil pulled himself up from the side of the bridge. To his right was the rest of the town, some townsfolk meandering about their day. So casual, like their worlds were not consumed by eternal worry. These people did not have to think about watching their backs for stray knives. He didn’t want to say he was jealous, but it left him with some nondescript feeling. A couple walked down a path to what appeared to be a beach; the girl’s silvery blonde hair bounced, hands gesturing with abandon as she ranted about something Neil couldn’t decipher. The man’s head turned, and he caught Neil’s eye. He sneered.

Neil high-tailed it as casually as he could in the opposite direction, up past the library and the blacksmith. There was a store a little further north. It looked like a grocery store, surprising given the environment of Palmetto Town. He expected a place like this to rely moreso on community than big businesses, but he wasn’t one to complain. He had half a mind to bulk buy as much nonperishable food as he could and bunk down at Hatford Farm like a doomsday prepper. 

The automatic doors slid open when he approached. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d entered an alternate universe. There was something off-putting about the sterile, pristine supercenter laid out in front of him juxtaposed with the rustic little town outside.

“Welcome to RavenMart,” someone said, lilting and accented. French.

Neil looked around until he found the source. The man behind the register was tall, dark-haired and fair-skinned. His expression was neither happy not sad. Bored, maybe. Neil nodded at him and walked further inside, noting the nametag as he passed. _Moreau_. He noticed, too, the small “3” tattooed under his left eye.

Neil collected enough canned food to last him for at least a few weeks if he ate sparingly. If nothing else, he was decent at rationing.

He brought the food up to the man who’d spoken to him, Moreau. The man glanced up briefly as he scanned the cans. “Haven’t seen you before.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “I’m new,” he said in French.

Moreau’s eyes widened for a flash before his expression blanked again. He did not respond, and Neil paid for his groceries.

Neil returned down the cobblestone path that led to Hatford Farm. Nicky was leaning against the side of the general store, Andrew by his side with a half-burnt cigarette between his index finger and thumb, but something was amiss. Andrew’s expression was not sour, but instead entirely void. Blank eyes, mouth lax. His eyelids were lowered as if raising them would have been too much effort. It was unsettling in a way. Neil saw him earlier, looking a little irritated but still human. Now he seemed… _other_. He didn’t look at Neil this time, just stared blankly into the distance, stock-still except to raise the cigarette to his lips.

Nicky perked up when he saw Neil and stepped forward to intercept him. “Hey, you!” he said. Neil stopped a couple of feet ahead of him. Nicky glanced down to the bags loaded in Neil’s hands, and his face turned a little forlorn. “Oh, you went to RavenMart?” His laugh sounded almost offended. “You remembered I own a general store, right? I mean, I get it, I know big corporations are usually cheaper. It’s fine, it’s fine.” Neil said nothing. “Oh, this is Andrew, by the way.”

Nicky gestured behind him to the blond man leaning against the wall. Andrew didn’t react, whether he heard Nicky or didn’t care.

“We met,” Neil said.

Nicky tilted his head. “You did?”

“You changed your clothes,” Neil said to Andrew. He was wearing a black sweater in lieu of the red t-shirt he had been in that morning, despite the moderate temperature outside. One of the greater mysteries surrounding the guy was how he didn’t have an immediate heat-stroke.

Andrew met his eyes, a soft hazel. He seemed to have expertly crafted the ability to let nobody into his mind’s workings, a club with a single member.

“You met him?” Nicky said in Andrew’s direction. The phrasing threw Neil off for a moment before he realized Nicky had spoken in German instead of English. Neil raised an eyebrow but quickly schooled his expression into feigned confusion.

“No,” Andrew said.

“Weird.” Nicky hummed and turned back to Neil. “Anyway, sorry,” he said in English. “I should get back to the store. I may or may not have abandoned Erik while we were stocking. It’s the worst. You should introduce yourself around if you feel like it, Neil.”

The door of the general store closed behind him, and Neil was left alone with Andrew, still staring blankly into the distance. Neil had never quite seen anything like him.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, mutually daring the other to break it. A bird chirped in the distance. Andrew stubbed his cigarette on the side of the building and Neil felt air brush against him when Andrew walked past. He made a right turn behind the clinic and disappeared up a set of cobblestone stairs.

Neil sighed and made his way back to Hatford Farm.

He knew about the potential eccentricity of small-town life. It was not unbelievable that people who lived so closely would develop some sense of stranger danger among them. But Andrew was an enigma. He didn’t hold the same wariness to outsiders that Wymack, for one, did; it was at once more and less blatant. There was also a distinct variance between the morning and afternoon versions of Andrew. Outward displeasure to unadulterated apathy might have been a shift unnoticeable to some, but Neil couldn’t _not_ notice. Andrew was a riddle with no apparent solution.

But either way, Neil did not care. All that mattered was his continued survival. He wouldn’t let Andrew or anyone else in this town stand in the way of it.

It was something to think about, at least.


End file.
